


heart attacks and headaches

by boom_goes_the_canon



Series: rationalism and Romanticism [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 19th Century Medicine, Canon Era, Costumes, Dissection, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_goes_the_canon/pseuds/boom_goes_the_canon
Summary: “What are you doing here?!” Combeferre hisses.“Visiting.”“You—” Combeferre says, frustratedly jabbing a finger near Jehan’s powdered face. “You are lucky I do not scream when I am surprised.”Jehan looks utterly innocent, the very picture of deception. “You do not?”
Relationships: Combeferre/Jean Prouvaire
Series: rationalism and Romanticism [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890667
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	heart attacks and headaches

Combeferre doesn’t jump back and drop his scalpels when one of the corpses on the other end of the room gets up and waves at him. That is an exaggerated version of events, only to be matched in drama by carnivals, canards, and Courfeyrac.

“Jehan,” he gasps, because the corpse _is_ Jehan, Jehan naked with face powders smeared on his entire body. He’s also very much alive, despite all appearances. “Wha—”

“—Surprise!” Jehan says, flinging his arms up with a huge grin, and it looks unnerving with the makeup, so Combeferre throws him a sheet and hits him in the face accidentally. It does cover his face though, so Combeferre considers it a partial victory at worst.

“Mmmph.”

“What are you doing here?!” Combeferre hisses.

“Visiting.”

“You—” Combeferre says, frustratedly jabbing a finger near Jehan’s powdered face. “You are lucky I do not scream when I am surprised.”

Jehan looks utterly innocent, the very picture of deception. “You do not?”

“I do not,” says Combeferre, lying through his teeth. There had been an incident, with Jehan in a bat costume and practicing his powers of sneaking only to pounce on Combeferre from behind and cover his eyes.

“How sad,” Jehan says. He is still refusing to wipe his face, or even arrange his sheet more modestly. Combeferre averts his eyes.

“How are you not cold?” Combeferre says. Honestly, the explanation could range from a specialized skin-tight garment to the blessings of snow fairies, and Combeferre would still conduct experiments in order to test them.

“I am warmed by the fervor of my emotion,” Jehan says, standing up and letting his sheet fall to the floor. Combeferre makes a noise of protest as he patters closer and rests his fingers delicately on Combeferre’s shoulders. “Take a break?” he says, his voice a delicate whisper.

“I only have use of this room for the next few minutes,” Combeferre tries. “I do congratulate you on your costume; it is so effective I will surely get in trouble. They won’t take kindly to me when they see there’s a corpse missing. You cannot expect me to make time for you whenever the whim strikes you.”

Jehan pouts.

“I can feign illness tomorrow?” he offers finally, and the sudden brightness in Jehan’s eyes is almost worth the bargain he will have to strike with his roommate. Almost.

“Oh, that would be _lovely_ ,” Jehan says, and he sounds far too gleeful about it. “What will it be? Cholera, dysentery, consumption?” He gasps dramatically. “The plague?”

“A headache,” Combeferre says, and Jehan droops suddenly like the mimosa plant he keeps on his windowsill.

“That’s no fun,” he protests in his most pathetic tone. “What sort of Medieval hero is laid low by a simple headache? It doesn’t do you poetic justice, Combeferre, and if you do make that excuse, I shall be very angry.” He stomps his foot.

“It’s survivable. It’s logical.”

Jehan sighs dramatically. “Oh, the sacrifices I make for you,” he says, and he stands on tiptoe and plants a kiss right on Combeferre’s nose.

Combeferre sneezes. “You got powder on my glasses.”

“Oh no, whatever shall you do.”

“I can’t _see_.”

“Alas, you are blind. You cannot dissect in this condition.” Jehan grabs his hand, the cleaner one of the two. “Fear not, I will lead you to safety. Follow me!”

Combeferre does. He doesn’t have much choice in the matter.


End file.
